Please, Don't Slow Me Down
by Sugar-Hype-Queen
Summary: Tala's speeding, and Bryan's just trying to do his job. TalaByran
1. I was afraid

**Probably a one shot, might become a two shot. Because who doesn't like Tala a bit full of himself? ; 3  
**

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It's a miserable day. 

The sun has ditched our pathetic little planet, and the sky is instead ruled by a solid blanket of depressingly blank clouds. It's a miserable day, but I'm well on my way home, so _I_ am not miserable. I know, that would be tragic, right? Anyway, the road is clear of any other, less superior drivers, the trees outside are a dark verdant 'n' coffee blur, and my jet black Firebird is positively _flying_, purring like a kitty all the while. A very large, very stylish kitty…

I wonder what Ray's doing right now?

_//15 minutes ago//_

"_Hello?" "Hey Tala, it's Ray. I'm thinking of taking some time off, so if don't expect to see me at the café for a bit."_

_//End flashback//_

Hmm… I'll just stop by at the café later and ask for him.

….Why am I thinking about Ray?

Random. Okay, like I was saying, it's a miserable day, but I'm almost home, where my adorable baby is waiting for me.

What? Who says wolf/husky mutts can't be adorable? Wolborg is cuter than any of those wimpy, frou-frou dogs you see being carried around in handbags could ever be, without any of the revolting frills. So you see, despite the dreary world around me, I am not the least bit-

**WREEEEEEEOOOOOWREEEOOOOOWREEEOOOO!!!**

-Miserable. Forget the sirens, and the cop car behind me, I am doing freaking _fantastic_! Argh! I can't believe this! I _cannot_ afford to get another ticket! If I do, those Nazis at court will take away my license! Can you imagine the nerve of those bastards? _Are you feeling my pain?!_ FEEL MY PAIN, CURSE YOU! My lovely Firebird would be so lonely, it would miss me! _I_ would certainly miss me, in any case.

I huff angrily, and slowly pull over, careful not to get so much as a scratch on my precious…

Don't even go there. Golem can't even _begin_ to _fathom _my level of sexy.

The little freak.

Not wanting to come off as a drunk or crackhead who's just stolen a car, I quickly yank the rear-view mirror in my direction and make sure my appearance is at its usual level: The Smex.

Icy blue eyes peer at me from the smudged glass, surrounded by smooth, clear skin (I've worked very hard for that, I'll have you know,). Livid red hair, swept into two sides frame my reflections face, along with carefully arranged bangs and my two trademark strands.

Hastily, I make sure my outfit is straight (pfft…straight…). It consists of a delectable white shirt with light blue sleeves and baggy white cargo pants that drooped down to my black boots.

All right, _Mister Copper_. Bring it on.

_**Taptaptap!**_

Startled, I realize that the cop has gotten out and rapped on my window, obviously wanting me to talk to me. I take a deep breath, and slide my finger onto the button that lowers the window. The tinted glass, slow and suspenseful like a curtain being drawn at a play, reveals, inch by inch, the sexiest face I've seen since…

Well, since I looked in the mirror.

It's rude to stare. I'll stop in another three seconds or so…. Three… Two… Two and a half…

"Is there a problem, officer?"

I smile up at him playfully, an undeniable tinge of seduction about my voice. I'm not desperate, but he just looks so _tasty_ in that uniform! It seems he declines from wearing the usual reflective sunglasses; those freak me out anyway. Instead I am met with sharp silver eyes, which look as if they would usually be frightening, but are now dawning an endearing, downright cute expression of surprise. (Heh, me and my odd sense of cute. But what can I say?)

Short, somewhat messy, but soft looking lilac hair is brushing onto the strong contours of his face, caressing the pale skin. I want to touch it.

His uniform is a deep, regal blue, and suggests an extremely able body hiding beneath the fabric.

He seems to be recovering. Oh, now he's talking!

"I need to see your license and identification, and I need you to get out of the vehicle, sir."

The words might be disappointing, but his voice is deep, and I am almost overtaken by a sudden desire to lick my lips. However, being the incredible person that I am, I manage to abstain from doing so. Instead, I smile angelically up at him once more while reaching into my pocket to retrieve the requested items from my wallet. I hand them over, making sure the skin of my hand makes contact with his.

Color leaks onto his cheeks. Too. Much. _Fun_.

He quickly scans the I.D., looking up at me from what I know to be a perfect, laminated image of me. I slowly climb out of the car, taking care that my figure is presented in the most appealing way. I even stretch a bit, as if to loosen up from driving. I wonder if I'm making him sweat? For some reason, I really hope I am.

"Tala- Ahem, Tala Ivanov?"

"At your service, Officer…?" Any service, any service at all. Just pick one, sweetheart.

"Kuznetsov. Bryan Kuznetsov."

It spills from his lips abruptly, as if he had been waiting to say it, hoping I would ask his name. Or maybe I'm fooling myself?

…Nah.

"Tala Ivanov, at your service, Officer Kuznetsov. Or, can I call you Bryan?"

He ignores both my comment and flirty wink, but he's fidgeting a bit. This could work out nicely.

"Mister Ivanov-"

"Please, call me Tala." You can even scream it if you want to. Please. **Make. My. Day.**

"Yes, well…Tala…you were doing 75 on a road with a speed limit of 60 mph. Do I really need to elaborate?"

"…Maybe." Come on, you can't resist the pout! NO ONE CAN RESIST THE POUT!

"Sir, I'm going to have to give you a ticket-"

"Nooooo!" I groan, pulling my face into the most adorably pathetic expression I can imagine. If the court hears about this, I'll lose my precious! He may be cute, but he's still a cop. "The road was completely clear, and you know as well as I do that rush hour was a veritable forever ago. Can't you let me off with a warning?"

He looks apprehensive, but I can tell he's considering it. This is it, I'm going in for the kill! It's now or never!

"I'll even buy you a drink or two in return. By your last name I'm guessing you're Russian, like me. I assume that means you can hold your drink?"

Take the bait. I know you love a challenge, you have to! I'm _never_ wrong about these things! My eyes are widening almost imperceptibly with anticipation as I watch his face gradually set in resolve.

"You just asked me, a complete stranger, to let you off the hook…_and_ you asked me out. For all you know, I'm straight and married with kids."

"Yes I did, and that took balls. Besides, you're much too young and attractive to be married."

"…Right. So here's my number, and you're going to call me no later than 8:30 and tell me where we'll meet." He slips a card into my hand, which I eagerly accept. "If you don't, I've got you're information, and a ticket with your name on it."

He sighs, head tilted downwards, with the hint of a smile tugging at tempting, distracting lips. The sight of it makes me feel like I haven't in a long while. "I have nothing to lose with this, Tala, but I'd appreciate it if you make it worth my while."

He doesn't expect the sultry kiss on his cheek (yes, I can make even a kiss on the cheek sultry, I'm just that good), and by the time he looks up, a small gasp escaping him, I'm leaning casually on my car door, hopefully looking like sexy personified. "I'll do my best. See you then, Officer Kuznetsov." I turn around and open the door, only to hear his voice as I climb in.

"Bryan. Call me Bryan."

I'm smirking wolfishly as I start the car, and give him one last mischievous wink. "See you around nine, Bry."

Remember how I was saying it's a miserable day? I lied. I don't care if it looks miserable outside, because there is a card in my hand with a certain cop's number on it that would argue otherwise.

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Review and you shall be pelted with delicious strawberries and bananas! 


	2. that you would not insist

**Why couldn't I leave it alone? Because this was just too much fun to write. I'll probably add more- some KaRe might become a factor. Don't quite know yet. But here ya are, and please enjoy. -SHQ **

* * *

"Hello?"

"Rei! Rei-Rei, my darling, sweetest friend-"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"Please?"

"What do you want?" he growls, practically bristling over the phone.

I win! Smirking lightly, I proceed to answer, because he asked oh-so-nicely.

"Well, I've got vital business to take care of, you see, but Wolborg just does _not_ do alone. Thunder frightens him, and I don't like the looks of the sky right now. So you see, it's really-"

"I'm not babysitting-"

"-quite essential that you find it in your vicious little kitty heart-"

"-your stupid **mutt**-"

"-to be the dutiful and strong guardian-"

"-just so you can go out on a _date_!"

"-that Wolborg needs. Okay?"

"No!"

"Rei, sweetheart, please don't be like this! I…tolerated… that Zrigger thing-"

"Drigger! His name is Drigger!"

"…Whatever. The point is, when you needed me to keep that thing for you, I sucked it up and did what I had to do. So _you_-"

"Liar! I had to blackmail you into it!"

"-_you_ should do the same for me. Don't you have that, um, whassit called? Starts with an h…"

"Honor?"

"Didn't I say that?"

I sigh, getting annoyed. Must he be such a drama queen about this? Ye Gods, man!

Little does he know I'm already trolling through my closet in search of something fitting to wear. Wolborg is right beside me, because who else is going to give me fashion advice?

I hold a pair of dark brown pants in front of his nose- he whines. A no-go. Hmm, maybe the white pair, then?

"No, you didn't."

"Technicality. Look, do _you_ have any plans for this evening, by chance?"

He doesn't, or else he would have said something about it earlier. He has a habit of doing that- something about being responsible? There's a pause on the other end.

I toss another pair of pants in the 'Maybe' file. Wolborg trots over to lie down beside it, yawning to show his large, sharp white teeth. It's a bit of a job brushing them, but I can _not_ have my baby run around with a mouth full of rotting choppers. Christ, Rei sure is taking his time…

"…No- but this was gonna be my time off!" he whines.

I bite my lip, sympathetic. I do have a heart, you know…some of the time. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to say.

He'd _better_ take my offer.

"Allright, Rei- listen. _I_… I will cover for you anytime next week. Just let me know when. Just _please_ do this for me," I do my best to give him the puppy dog eyes through the phone. If I listen hard enough, I think I can actually hear him caving little by little…

"You're offering to do extra work?"

"Sadly- yes."

"He must be hot."

"You bet your sweet a-"

"_Tala!_ Okay. I will watch your…creature…"

"Hey, don't insult my baby like that!"

"-for one night and one night _only_. I fully expect you to keep your word. Do you hear me, Ivanov?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, so you'll really do it?"

"Yes."

"I'll drop him off in 10 minutes. Ciao!"

As I hit the off button on the phone, a smirk finds its way to my face. And why not? I've managed to get everything in order, and in the process, found a _stunning_ outfit. White leather pants, slightly flared, and a fairly tight, icy blue top with a few artsy designs on it. My white boots and my black choker will finish it off nicely! Now all I have to do is call him and give him the time and place…

Perfect.

o0o

"You do _what_?"

"I said I'm a dancer. You know, _ballet_?"

"…Oh."

His face loses that hilarious expression of shock- I can't stop myself from snickering.

We're walking down the sidewalk right now- to his place. Apparently he doesn't live too far from the café where Rei works and I decided our date should be. I must admit, he didn't disappoint in the looks department, even if he kept it simple. As a matter of fact, jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt never looked quite so molestable.

However, he's not much of a conversationalist, I've learned. But when he does talk, he's funny in his own, slightly evil way. I've also come to the conclusion that there is no one on _earth_ who's more fun to tease.

"I'm flattered you think I could be an exotic dancer, though. If you really want, I could try for you…"

"U-uhmm…" I try to stifle my laughter, but his face- it's just too funny! And that _blush_.

"But seriously. If you want to see me dance, I'm performing at the Roster Theatre most of this month. We're doing _The Fawn_- guess who's the fawn?"

"You?"

"Sadly, you're wrong. But if the guy who does just _happens_ to have an accident, I take his place. Let's cross our fingers."

I look over to see him smirking something awful. The streetlight makes him look threatening, and mysterious, and… really, _really_ sexy. I bite my lip. I think we've reached his place, because we're in front of a door and we're no longer walking and I… I…

"You have very pretty eyes."

Where did that come from? Did _I_ just say that? Oh, _suck_. How is it that I wait to the very end of a wonderful date and then screw it up? Bryan here has proven to be very sweet so far, but somehow I doubt he'll appreciate my little comment. It was good while it lasted…

His back is tuned to me, and he's really tense. I watch, frowning slightly, as he unlocks and opens his door. He's turning around now, only I can't see his eyes because they're covered by his hair.

"Not as pretty as yours."

Suddenly he's so much closer, and there's a set of warm lips on my cheek and I can't- freaking- breathe-

"Night, Tala. I had fun."

Those wicked silver eyes are smiling at me, and then a door closes and they're gone and _what just happened?_

o0o

"…and then he said, _Night, I had fun_. I can't stop thinking about it- about him! Jesus, what happened, Rei?"

I stare at Wolborg's snoozing form as a pace around my bed with my phone to my ear, blushing at the thought of what happened last night. I hear him chuckle on the other end. Cause this is just _soooo_ funny.

"Well, Tala, looks like you don't have to worry about any speeding tickets. What you **do** need to worry about is getting a second date- you finally found a guy who's not scared of you. Hold on to him and don't let go."

I frown- that was supposed to be insulting, wasn't it? "Hey, I'm not scary!"

"…Yeah. You keep telling yourself that. Listen, you like him right?"

I think back to that kiss- it was just on the cheek, but I swear I haven't been that hot in _forever_-

"Yes," I say.

"And he likes you, right?"

I smirk, though he can't see it. "Well, _duh_."

"Then what are you waiting for? Go annoy him."

"You now what?" The scrap of paper with his name and number on it is lying invitingly on my dresser. I _do_ have the day off today…

"I just might."

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**If you want an ultimate cheat sheet to life, review! Not saying you'll get one, but still... **


	3. I said please,

**I got the urge! And not to shampoo, but to add another chapter onto this. I really wasn't expecting this fic to go anywhere, but all these wonderful reviews were making me feel guilty. So I kidnapped my muse and had a go at it. Oh, and some fair warning: hintage of KaRe at the end. It won't be very major, just a sidepairing, really. But still. Well, here you are! -SHQ **

* * *

"_What?_"

"Nothing!"

I smirk evilly as the petrified teen scurries away from the counter (and, coincidentally, me), face blanched in fear. Serves him right. Couldn't he see I was trying to brood? Feh. Just because I'm filling in for Rei doesn't mean I have to _like_ it. It's not even tolerable. Why is this? Because:

A) No one is paying attention to me… unless they're trying to get me to do stuff.

B) People are trying to get me to do stuff.

and

C) There is no Bryan involved.

So you see, this situation that I'm in fails. Completely, utterly, _fails_.

This is what I get for having '_friends'_, _'keeping my word'_, and all the other **crap **that somehow shoved its way into my life whilst I wasn't looking. What's wrong with Rei, anyway? I mean seriously- he's the best cook here, why would they have him working the register? Probably because of the bunch of disappointed looking fangirls moping over at table six. Pathetic.

I scowl, slumping over onto the counter, my red hair brushing against the dull grey plastic of the register.

This is so frustrating- just think of all the places I could be right now! I _could_ be at the theatre right now, making sure Ilea, the guy with the lead part, definitely **does** …not… have an unfortunate accident. I _could_ be out running with Wolborg at the park- true, sometimes children cry at the sight of him running, but that's just because he's misunderstood. I _could_ be at home, sleeping. I _could_ be with Bryan. I _could_ be at home… with Bryan… sleeping?

I hum a bit at the last thought, snuggling deeper into my folded arms. It's a pleasant thought. I rather like it. Especially when I switch the last two parts.

I feel someone in front of me, but I ignore them. Maybe they'll go away.

"Tala."

Grunt.

"Tala!"

"...?"

"You're supposed to be filling in for me, not sleeping."

"I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking."

"It's a good thing you don't do too much of that, then- you'd never get out of bed."

"Why are you here? Come to watch me suffer?"

"Maybe."

I finally lift my head to glare at him, to no avail. However, I think the potted plant over there behind him just wilted, so it's nice to know that at least I haven't lost my touch. Rei stares back at me, nonplussed. Where does he get off thinking he can be 'nonplussed' anyway? He's making me _angry_.

"You're making me _angry_."

He raises an eyebrow as I huff (angrily) to prove my point.

"Actually," he says, ignoring my proclamation of anger, "I just came by to pick up my paycheck." He glances around the café, which is filled with shiny wood, earth tones, talking people and the smell of good coffee and good food. And which, presently, is home to just a few empty tables.

Namely, the five tables closest to me.

Fancy that.

"Looks like you've been having fun," he remarks.

I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. This place has become my prison! Was it really just yesterday that I had a brilliant, _brilliant_ date here? With a brilliant, molestable, funny… molestable… Bryan? Fate, you _bitch_. What did I ever do to deserve this? Is it because I'm a truly malicious person at heart? Because if it is, then it's not my fault. I can't help the way I am.

"Are you doing that stupid inner monologue thing again?"

"No."

"Right."

Rei sips from a mug of creamy hot chocolate, apparently obtained sometime during my mental tangent. He takes a seat at one of the vacant tables close to me, his eyes questioning under messy raven bangs.

Wait.

Questioning eyes… there was something I was supposed to remember about questioning eyes when it comes to Rei. His mouth is opening, like he's about to say something. I hold up my hand, signaling him to wait a second. Hmmmm... Questioning eyes plus Rei equals… danger?

He frowns, opening his mouth again, and again, I hold up my hand, halting his speech. Questioning eyes plus Rei equals… manic laughter? No, no… Questioning eyes plus Rei equals…? He looks angry now, and he starts to grind out something rude when finally it all snaps into place.

"Equals questions!" I proclaim.

He stops, stares for a second, and sighs.

"Yes, Tala. Equals questions. Whatever. Look, I just wanted to ask you about this Bryan guy. I'm having doubts about him."

Now it is _my_ turn to stare, thank you very much.

"Rei, sweetness, you're not the one dating him," I point out. Obviously he's forgotten.

He blushes, expression almost comically indignant.

"I-I know that!" he sputters, "I was just thinking, after you called me- what kind of cop pulls someone over and then asks them out on a date? Is that _really_ the kind of person you want to be involved with? I don't know, Tala. I just don't feel good about that."

I snort, propping my elbows onto the counter.

"_He_ didn't ask for the date, _I_ did. I mean, how could he _possibly _have resisted this?"

I gesture briefly at my breathtakingly gorgeous face, and Rei rolls his eyes. I frown, offended. How dare he doubt my irresistibility? Does he think he's prettier than me? I grit my teeth together, glaring at the neko-jin in front of me. He. Is. _Not!_

He is _not_ prettier than me.

"You are _not_ prettier than me."

"…Okay."

He takes another sip from his mug, closing his eyes.

"But I still don't know about this Bryan guy."

I frown, exasperated- Rei should know better than to doubt my extraordinary taste in men.

"Rei, you should know better than to doubt my extraordinary taste in men." I sigh, dragging my eyes cursorily over my already perfect nails. Glancing up at my neko-jin friend, I see that has his eyebrows are furrowed slightly, and that a shadow of a frown is pulling at his mouth. He still doesn't believe me.

Feh. What does he know?

I catch a movement behind him, and I find myself automatically preparing to snarl at any newly approaching customer.

Then I see who it is.

My eyes widen slightly before a wicked smirk settles over my face.

"Well Rei," I start, not removing my eyes from the silver set before me, "If you're still having doubts about… this Bryan guy… You should really just try talking to him. He _is _right behind you, after all."

oOo

I wish I had a camera.

Alas, I don't think I'll ever get to see this look on his face again. Cool, composed Rei-Rei. Hah. He looks like he's having a heart attack! Wait… He doesn't have some horrible, life threatening heart condition that I don't know about, does he? Nah. If that was the case, I would been the death of him long ago.

I turn my eyes to Bryan, who's looking at my petrified friend with an adorably confused expression. My lips twist upwards in amusement- how can he be so cute? The rest of the café patrons seem to be cowering in fear of him, though… His cuteness, like Wolborg's, is probably just misunderstood by the idiotic masses.

They're missing out.

"Hey, sexy," I call.

His eyes, that same, razor sharp silver, snap over to mine. There's a bit of color staining his cheeks. Why is that so pleasing?

"Tala," He nods at me, walking over. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at the Theatre."

I whirl around, turning my back to him and crossing my arms.

"You're not glad to see me?" I snap, fighting a losing battle not to laugh.

"No, no! I mean, yes! I- Tala!"

Oh, damnit. Why couldn't I keep it in? I'm laughing now, and I've turned around to see this wonderfully flustered look on his face. His eyes are laughing too, though. I manage to calm down- he's about to say something.

"You're horrible," he mutters, and I can't help but smile. Although I think there might be just a little bit of evil in it. My smile, that is. But who cares?

"I _would_ be at the Theatre," I start, a less than saintly grin teasing at my lips, "but, here I am. I'm just doing somebody a favor. As a matter of fact, doing a favor for _him_. That guy. Right there."

I point at Rei, who is looking just a tad bit panicked. Oh, this is fun. Said yellow eyed somebody rushes to stand up, offering his hand to shake while smiling awkwardly, as he usually does when he's nervous.

"I'm Rei, it's nice to meet you," he blurts.

He's probably wondering if Bryan heard him talking earlier, about his 'doubts' and whatnot. Serves him right for being overprotective. Wait… that sounded kind of mean. Ooooh well. Bryan looks at Rei's hand for a moment before gripping it firmly and shaking once.

"Bryan. Same here."

He turns back to me.

"I'd like you to meet someone, too. I needed to get him away from the interns, so I dragged him here."

His voice is distracting… What did he say? Who's he talking about? The answer, it seems, has been brooding quietly off to the side, leaned casually against the wall. I hadn't even noticed him. Which is weird, because he's pretty hot… Although, in my personal opinion, not comparable to Bryan.

But drool worthy, nonetheless.

"Hiwatari Kai," he says, his voice a cool baritone.

I blink- this close up, it looks like his eyes are red. No, I think they're really, _actually _red. And I'd thought his hair was jut a dark grayish color, but now I can see that that's only true for the front- the rest is a dark, midnight blue. Odd. But who am I to judge?

"I'm Tala, and that's Rei. The pleasure is ours."

A snicker threatens to escape me, but I manage to hold it in. The pleasure is ours… I really need to stop saying things like that.

I glance over at Rei, who's waving weakly at Kai, still doing his awkward smile thing… only now his face is approaching the same livid shade as my hair. Kai nods at both of us, his expression unreadable if there at all. Although, if I'm not mistaken, his eyes lingered slightly on Rei. Wait, wait, stop everything! My eyes dart between the two of them, and I can almost hear the cogs turning and clicking in my head. Let it be known that I have not a match-making bone in my glorious body, but that doesn't matter. Know why? Because I…

…have a plan.

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**Hate traffic, minor burns, and splinters? Review. They won't go away, but you never know. -SHQ **


	4. don't slow me down

**Yo. So... ****Ahem. It was a long, difficult journey. But anyway! Reviews kept coming, and I felt guilty. What else could I do but crank another chapter? Enjoy! -SHQ**

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I hope I went out in a blaze of glory.

Really. I mean shouting, punching, drop-kicking, screaming "_No one's gonna take me alive!" _and all that stuff. I _also _hope they found my will. Creepy? Me? Hey, there's nothing wrong with being prepared. I left Wolborg most of my stuff, but I think I squeezed in $20 bucks for Rei somewhere in there. I wonder what he wore to my funeral... probably red. That bastard.

Why the preoccupation with my death?

Well, obviously, I'm dead.

How else could I be in heaven? No one alive, on earth, or within a one mile radius of me could _possibly _give such a good massage. But that's exactly what's happening.

Thus, logically, I must be dead.

And _damn _it feels good.

Warm, strong hands move over my back, my neck, and my shoulders. They move over my skin so slowly... so warm... I can't move. I don't ever want to move. If death always feels this good, then living was waaay overrated. His voice washes over me, deep and sexy and relaxing... Wait, he asked me something, didn't he?

"Tala?" he repeats.

Damnit.

"Mm? Sorry, didn't hear you. Did what you say involve more touching? In different places? Because the answer is yes."

Oh _god_, yes.

"N-no," he stutters, and I wonder at the fact that I can do that. Usually he is the epitome of calm, cool and in charge. Which is sexy.

But I can make him s-s-_stutter_.

I smirk, but then his hands still. That, my friend, warrants a frown. Bad hands. They have a _job _to do.

(Maybe not the exact job I'd _prefer _they were doing at the moment, but a very important one nonetheless.)

"Kidding," I sigh, "But not really. Keep going."

He half-sighs, half-chuckles, and I'm dead and in the clouds all over again. His hands resume their movements.

"I asked if you were feeling better," he clarifies.

I hum, considering. It took some effort to convince him that my back was _really_sore from dancing, and it would be a _really_good idea for him to give me a massage. Keyword there being _effort_, a word I do not use lightly in the event that it's actually _me_making said effort, you understand. I worked hard for this massage. I'm not about to ruin it.

"Maybe..."

"Because if you are, then there's something, I mean, I want- There's something I want show you."

Am I breathing? No? Oh, that's right. The whole dead thing. I guess that's for the best, 'cause that would have killed me _all over again_.

"Weeeell," I drawl, "I do feel a _little _better." Insert devious leer here, thank you very much.

"What are you going to show me?"

"Surprise."

Smirking, he removes his hands and makes me sit up. What makes him think he can smirk at me (although it's pretty sexy)? I huff, Not-Pouting fiercely. Why do I Not-Pout? Because I, Tala Ivanov, am a BAMF (Bad Ass Mother F), damnit! BAMFs do _not _pout. End of story.

"Well, where is it, then?"

"Wait here, I'll go get it."

With that, he leaves. I am left, puzzled, excited, and kind of horny (What? It could be something kinky) on the couch. Maybe I should put my shirt back on? Well, no. I want to encourage a very 'clothing-isn't-_really-_necessary' kind of environment in my house as long as he's here. I have to set a good example.

I hear him approach and look up. He's clutching several papers in his hands rather proudly.

Ummm... what?

It must show on my face, because he hands the papers to me with a partially nervous, partially hopeful expression.

"It's a police report on Ilea Jimme. He was recently caught with a quarter pound of cocaine and a fake ID. He also resisted arrest."

My eyes widen. _It all fits. _Late for rehearsals, high strung, perpetually bitchy to the Nth degree- it all makes sense!

My eyes widen even more. Crackhead Jimmy obviously won't be playing the lead part from a jail cell. So. _I_-

"HELL YES!"

-scream and glomp Bryan like there's no tomorrow. No, scratch that, like there's a lot of tomorrows, with a raise and a huge dressing room, and $20 bucks out of Rei who _foolishly _bet there was no _way _I was ever gonna get a part this big, and... and Bryan. Bryan in a front row seat, watching me dance. For him.

"Tala," he gasps, "Can't- _breathe_-"

"Sorry," I apologize, loosening my maybe a little-too-tight-around-the-windpipe embrace, "I've been known to have that effect on people."

"I don't doubt it," he replies.

Oooh, I love a smartass.

"Are you sure?" I ask, bringing my mouth close to his ear. So he can hear better, of course.

"I can prove it, if you want," I whisper, my breath hot on his ear, and I smirk when I see color leak onto his cheeks.

I hear him swallow, and he opens his mouth to reply-

_**Bring! Bring! Bring! Bring!**_

-and suddenly, I'm seeing red. Who the _hell _is interrupting my moment? _Who _has the nerve to call me when I'm right in the middle of-

_**Bring! Bring!**_

"Sorry, Bryan, this will only take a second,"I mutter, reluctantly dragging myself away from him to answer my phone. And it will, too.

_**Bri-**_

"_What_?" I hiss, picturing the pure venom in my voice seething across telephone lines and dripping out of this bastard's receiver. Don't ever say I have no imagination.

"T-Tala, Tala I need your help!"

I deflate, the righteous hellfire anger rushing out of me in a heartbeat. That's Rei's voice.

"Rei? What's wrong? Is someone after you? Have you been kidnapped? Is the government-"

"_No_! I- He- _Kai!_"

"...Is after your blood?"

"Yes! I mean no! _No_! Man, Tala, what kind of question is that?"

"Well, you are kind of freaking out," I point out. Poor kitty doesn't seem to realize.

"He's not after my blood. I think. Uhm, he asked me f-for my number, and I gave it to him and I-"

"Rei, baby, darling," I interrupt, "As fascinating as your back-from-the-dead love life is-"

"Ouch."

"-I was kind of in the middle of something. So do me a favor. Tell me- _what does this have to do with me?_"

"He asked me out. What do I do?"

I ponder the question. The way I see it, I can do the Good Friend thing, or I can do the Well Isn't Payback a Bitch thing. Hmmm; choices, choices.

"Okay, calm down. When he calls you, this is what you say: _I don't want to know your name, I just want to bang bang-"_

"TALA!"

"Damn straight. Look, you'll be fine, just don't do anything I wouldn't do. Now _bye_."

I hang up, shaking my head. Silly Rei-Rei. I'm having second thoughts about my little plan- Judging from that call, I think it'd actually be more amusing to watch him muddle through it on his own. And there is the whole "Not having to go through the trouble of formulating and putting into motion a plan that, ultimately, would yield neither fame, fortune, or ahem for Tala Ivanov" aspect of it.

"Now where were we?" I ask, a devious smile already on my face.

I am answered by a low, thundering growl. God. Hates. Me.

"Wolborg Misha Nicolai _Yelena!_" I snap, spinning around to see my baby, hackles raised (adorably), snarling at Bryan, who is standing absolutely still.

"Get your furry butt over here! Now!"

He turns two large, gleaming, bright orange puppy dog eyes to me and whimpers. Then turns back to Bryan and growls again.

"Wolborg," I warn.

Whimper. Puppy dog eyes.

"That is _not_going to cut it, Mister. You get over here_right now_."

Large tail between his legs, he lopes over to me, sharp claws clacking against the floor. He nuzzles his snout against my waist (he's kind of tall), large, knife like teeth flashing as he continues to whimper. I feel myself melt a little- the manipulative thing. If only he wasn't so darn cute! I sigh, exasperated.

"Go to your bad corner," I order, pointing to a rug at the corner of the room.

He goes.

"You _do_know you're not supposed to keep wolves as pets, right?"

I turn to Bryan, smirking. For having faced a huffy Wolborg (which, by normal, whussy standards is a terrifying, nightmare inducing experience), he's remarkably calm. Damn. And after all the hard work I put in to make him blush. I walk over to him and poke him in the stomach.

"Wolborg is a mutt. He has husky blood in him... just a very small amount."

He raises a brow.

Translation: _Suuure. You keep telling yourself that, sexy_.

How do I know this? Because I'm psychic, bitch.

"Don't be jealous Bryan, Wolborg's my precious little baby, but you're a close second."

He frowns briefly before a wicked light begins to shine in his eye. My psychic powers have abandoned me. What the hell is he up to? He moves closer, and part of me wants to take a step back, but the BAMF in me quickly overrides it. He takes my finger, which is still poking the flight plane of muscle that mortals refer to as his stomach, and takes it in his hands.

Have I mentioned how much his hands turn me on? No? I won't bother. You'd need mind soap.

Slowly, so slowly, he takes the finger (and the hand it's attached to- if you needed that clarification, however, kudos to for you for being literate) and drags it up, up, up, pressing so slightly against the ever-so clingy fabric of his shirt, now trailing against skin, up the side of his neck, so slow, too slowly, up to his jaw-

Eyes locked with mine, he turns his head to the side and kisses my finger.

I... can't do anything but stare.

At the same painfully slow speed, he twines his fingers with mine, bringing our hands to rest at his neck as he leans in. Heat rushes up and down my spine, across my skin, and his lips are getting closer, closer. I'm not a patient person- I dart in for my kiss, but he pulls just out of reach.

"I don't do second place, Tala," he whispers, low and husky.

His. Voice. Makes. Me._Want_.

I try and reassemble the pathetic remains of my mind in an attempt to reply. My efforts are meaningless. Any possible words are silenced by his lips suddenly pressing against mine, rough and electric. Blood rushes inside of me and I'm dizzy, hypnotized by the faint feel of his pulse, and it's too slow, _too slow_, I need _more_.

His tongue brushes against my bottom lip, and I'm in heaven.

But hey- at least I went out in a blaze of glory.

* * *

**Did ya like? I had fun writing it. What was your favorite part of the story? Oh- and a glorious unicorn parade of death for the person who can name the song and band the title and chapter names are from. Well, ciao!-SHQ**


	5. if I'm going too fast

**Uh... I'm not dead. Just a horrible, horrible procrastinator. I blame karma. Anyway, nothing's more boring than happy people with no problems, and if you smack an L after P in the word POT, you generally get something interesting, right? Well, this ain't a one-shot anymore. I have to go with the flow.(_Don't say it doesn't matter, with the flow!_)-SHQ**

* * *

Note to self: **DO NOT** throw shoes at flies.

It is, apparently, a Great and Unwritten Rule of the Universe that if you throw a shoe at a fly, it will miss. You just end up with a flying, disease-ridden insect twice as excited (and infuriating) as it was before. If you have my luck (you poor, poor bastard), you also end up flat on your stomach with your arm stretched as far as it can go, groping around in the dark, grimy space under a wardrobe for the shoe you decided to play target practice with.

Which is, coincidentally enough, _exactly _the position I'm currently in.

Stupid fly. Stupid fly. Stupid- Wait. _Aha_! The tips of my fingers brush what has to be my shoe.

I'll just grab it and...

Oh, come _on_...

Just a little further...

This is useless.

The only way I'll be able to reach it is if I shove my head under there, too. Which I am not going to do. Screw rehearsal. Screw it, screw it, screw it with something _**hard and sand papery!**_ Of course, now that the word "screw" has crossed my mind, I can't help but think of Bryan. Bryan, Bryan, Bryan... Specifically, Bryan when he wished me luck at rehearsal today.

"Oh _screw it_," I growl.

I'm a BAMF.

I am a _B.A.M.F. _

This in mind, I take a deep breath, screw (_mmm... Bryan_) my eyes shut, and shove my head in after my arm. Immediately I feel the urge to sneeze until my nasal cavities hemorrhage or some kind soul puts me out of my misery and kills me. (Hm. For some reason the thought's not that bad. I think _death_, and for some reason, _kickass massage_ comes immediately after).

Now where's that shoe? Over here? No...

Yes! My fingers wrap around what has to be the sh-

"IVANOV! FIVE MINUTES TO STAGE!"

_What the hell?_ Startled, I try to jolt upright... and smash the back of my skull against very _solid _furniture.

"**_Shit!_**"

I drag my hurting self (shoe in hand) from under what is now officially, in my eyes, the Wardrobe of Hell, with the Promise of Hell To Come flaming in my eyes.

"_What_," I hiss, slowly turning my head to glare over my shoulder, "_Do you **need?**_"

My eyes narrow as I realize who's behind me. And, as a result, what the answer to my question is.

Behind me is Rob the Intern. No, his name is not Rob, and no, he is no longer an intern, but you if you know what's good for you you won't question my logic. I'm not in my happy place as it is, here. Now, if ignorance, incompetence, and halitosis all managed to incarnate into a single human form, it would be Rob the Intern. So do you know what he needs from me right now?

To suffer.

Maybe my intention to make this happen and happen **now **manages to leak through the dense layers of stupid that usually shield him from what I like to call Real Life, because he's slowly inching towards the door. I harden my glare- I want him gone _now _-and, just like that he's out of here. I think I heard him crying in terror on the way out.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the work of a true BAMF.

oOo

A harsh breath escapes me as I lope towards my dressing room.

Rehearsal is never pretty, so it's only understandable that I'm a little... cranky right now. Okay, who am I kidding? My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my back hurts and I kinda want to make something burn, partially to exact my revenge on a world that would dare to subject me, Tala Ivanov, to physical displeasure, and partially because I'm excited that, overall, rehearsal wasn't too shabby.

What, you don't want to burn things when you get excited? Not even a little bit?

You're lying to yourself.

"_Pssst_."

...The hell?

I peer around me furiously. Did I imagine that? I'm taking the backstage shortcut to my dressing room, which is cluttered and dark and kind of scary. Not that I'm scared. I probably just imagined-

"_PSSST!_"

I did not effing imagine that.

Ladies and gentlemen, you do not become a ballet dancer without gaining some pretty badass leg muscles. Muscles incredibly useful for leaping, and spinning, balance and power in motion, muscles incredibly, incredibly useful for situations like this one: i.e., when it is time to _**FLEE!**_ I leap over a few boxes and sprint for the end of this storage room/hallway only to find myself face to face with...

Crackhead Jimmy?

"_Ilea Jimme?_" I gasp, eyes widening in shock.

(Okay, so maybe it isn't the BAMF thing to do, but situations like this aren't an everyday thing, and who am I not to appreciate the drama?)

"Shut _up_!" he hisses, "I'm not _Ilea!_"

I raise a brow at this. He certainly _looks _like Jimme. Medium height, coarse black hair, dark eyes... a broken nose and worry lines? Okay, maybe this guy isn't Crackhead Jimmy. But he _does _look like a crackhead. He'd shaking slightly, and now that I'm really looking, he's got a hungry, haunted look about him. He looks like a cornered animal. Aren't those the quickest to bite?

I swallow.

"I'm Ilea's _cousin_," he rasps, voice hoarse and grim. "Heard he got _arrested_."

"Uh... And this concerns me how?"

"He _owed _people _money_. And _now _he can't _pay_."

"That's unfortunate. I'll just be going now..."

He shuffles directly in front of the door, blocking my exit. Just as quickly I turn around and prepare to haul ass in the opposite direction. I haven't even fully turned around before I hear his voice again.

"Tala _Ivanov_."

He knows my name. He knows my name. Breaking. Out. Cold. Sweat. Is he **armed**? He's not that big. Not as big as Bryan. _Damnit_! Can I take him?

"_You _musta _snitched _on Ilea. So _you _get to _pay _what he _owes_."

He reaches into his jacket and I automatically take a step back, but when a knife comes out, silver and glinting, the expression of his face is enough to keep me rooted to the spot.

"Every _penny _you _get _from these _faggot shows_," he spits, "Will go to _us_. Tell the _cops_..."

The knife flashes in his hand.

"...and you're _dead_."

* * *

**Oh, the terror! Dial 1800-OMGWTF to find out what happens next... or review. Or just wait. Um. Yeah.-SHQ**


	6. lives are changing lanes

**I didn't expect to go anywhere or do much of anything today, but life is random that way, and sometimes you just have to go with it. Still, sorry for not posting sooner. Uhm... Should I be putting something meaningful in these author's notes? Gosh, I hope not. Read the story, you silly thing you! SHQ**

* * *

Step.

Step.

I look over my shoulder.

Step.

Step.

What was that noise?

Step.

Step.

Damnit, this is **_exactly _**the kind of stuff that made me get the hell out of Russia!

I dash through the parking lot, hop into my car, and rev up my baby as quickly as I can, zooming out of the parking lot and onto the road home. I'm taking the long way. What if I'm being followed?

_...Maybe I shouldn't go home._

**Do they know where I live?**

_**Do they know when I'm alone?**_

_**DO THEY KNOW WHAT I DID LAST SUMMER?**_

Oh God.

I sound like Rei when he's drunk.

"ASS RABBITS!" I yell (gimme a break, I'm freaking out, here), slamming the back of my head against the headrest. I glare at the empty road for all I'm worth, fingers gripping desperately at my steering wheel. "What did I ever do to deserve this?!" I lament, glancing at the sky with disdain.

_**/childhood flashback/**_

_Seven year old Tala follows the lady in the suit to the room where the other children are. She tells him they'll all be living together here, and won't that be fun?_

_She leaves._

_A small boy with curly blond hair and warm green eyes approaches him shyly, a gentle smile on his face._

_"Wanna be my friend?" he asks timidly, holding out a chubby little hand._

_Tala blinks, a small smile tugging at his lips._

_He takes the hand._

_He pulls._

_The little boy tumbles to the floor. Tala kicks viciously at his side, giggling. She was right! This **was **fun!_

**_/end childhood flashback/_**

Um. Well, yeah... I guess there waaaas that one time.

But aren't children inherently cruel?

**_/ one month ago /_**

_"One ticket for Sweeney Todd."_

_"Certainly, sir. That'll be eight dollars. Would you like to donate an additional dollar to the Homes for the Homeless Organization?"_

_"...Bitch, please."_

**_/ end flashback /_**

**Alright**, I _admit it!_ _I'm a bad person!_ Is this what you want, Fate?! Fine!

**I've been a bad boy! **_I've been a very bad boy, you twisted bitch!_

But just because I'm a bastard does **not **mean I deserve for my life to end in a dark alley with Crackhead Jimmy's cousin (_What was his name? Whatever, I'm calling him Cousin Venny_) shanking the hell out of me! (_By shanking I mean stabbing me repeatedly with a sharp, pointy object, by the way. And not the good kind._) It's too soon for me to die, kickass massages be damned! I'm too pretty for that! I've got too much unfinished business! I haven't seen gay Paris yet, or Vegas! I haven't made a telemarketer cry yet! I haven't, I haven't found...

No. I have.

I've found Bryan, and Hell will freeze over before I let anyone take that away from me.

Enough panicking. I don't know who Cousin Venny thinks he is, I don't know who he's working with, and _I don't care_.

They're not getting a penny out of me.

They're not going to beat me.

They don't know what they're dealing with.

oOo

"Tala..."

"Hm?"

"...You're actually going to make me ask."

"Ask what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe why you called me thirty seconds after I got off duty and demanded that I meet you at IHOP? Just throwing that out there."

"Not IHOP, Borya, the International House of Pancakes."

"Borya?"

"My Borya."

He pins me with those eyes again, those perfectly terrifying, delicious silver eyes.

I smile and lean my head on his arm. We let the sounds of the International House of Pancakes wash over us.

I rub my cheek against the material of his uniform, feeling the hard muscle of his arm under the fabric. I feel relaxed now, and safe... and hungry. Where the hell is my Stuffed French Toast Combo? Paranoia makes you _hungry_. If I don't get my french toast soon, the only thing that's gonna be stuffed here is the manager's ass, because I'm going to shove my foot so far up there he'll nee-

"What are you thinking?"

I turn my head and I'm paralyzed once more by those incredible eyes. Three seconds of staring. Three. Two. Two and a half...

"I want my french toast."

He frowns, and I sigh. I have to tell him eventually... but what if he blames himself? What if he gets _mad_? He went through all the trouble of investigating Ilea for me, and it's all gone to hell already. I'm pissed, still just a little paranoid (Can you blame me? No, you can't, so stop nodding), and I'm _not _going to cooperate with that creep... but at this point, I don't really have a plan.

And I'm _going _to do those shows.

"Tala?"

I've worked too hard, damnit! I've come too far! I've considered sleeping with casting directors too many tim-

"_Tala!_"

"French toast?"

He stares at me. I frown, feeling color leak onto my cheeks.

"What, like you've never blurted out the first thing to pop into your head?"

I open my mouth to keep talking, but I can't. I'm just looking at him like I can't do anything else, drinking him in. His lips have curled into a thin, harsh line, and his eyes look nothing less than deadly.

So amazing.

"Tala," he hisses, "Tell me what's wrong!"

I smile, and it's genuine.

"Borya, dearest..." I trail off for a moment, trying to put this mess into words. I trust him, I trust him a trillion times over (Hell, if he seriously asked me to streak through the super market while singing the national anthem while waving the Canadian flag I'd do it in a heartbeat... although that may be the exhibitionist in me), but that's useless if he doesn't understand what I say.

"I've run into a little trouble," I say, "And I need you to help me."

I cringe a little inside. Okay, that definitely wasn't my usual _eloquence_, but it's a start.

"Did you break the law?"

I snort, poking him harshly in the chest.

"What?" he grouses, rubbing at the abused area, "I was just asking."

"I'll admit I pushed the speed limit a little on my way here, but that has nothing to do with it," I huff. "See, this thing that I've run into-"

I'm interrupted as a porcelain disk heavily laden with what can only be described as a portion of pastry, cream, and fruit composed heaven descends before me with an angelic choir. (Maybe there isn't an angelic choir, but there damn well should be!) With a decidedly wolfish expression I grab for my fork, but something stops me.

I look up.

Hmm... I think the _BEWARE, FOR YOU ARE TEMPTING MY PIMP HAND_ glare he's shooting me might be what's throwing a wrench in the 'Enjoy your French Toast, Tala! You're Worth It!' machine. Bloody shame, that. I lift a scrumptious forkful of bliss into my mouth, savor, swallow, and and lick my lips. His eyes trail to my mouth, and I can't resist a smirk.

"Tala, please tell me what's going on and _then _eat, alright?"

"If you insist, Borya."

I spend the next five minutes filling him in on what happened at rehearsal and the next five minutes after _that _expressing a number of maybe-just-a-little-bit-paranoid conspiracy theories while demolishing my french toast. Bryan seems remarkably calm about the whole thing- or he would, if his eye wasn't twitching ever so slightly.

I may have failed psychology class, but I'm not stupid.

(It wasn't my fault, anyway. The teacher was just pissed because her dear old ((and I mean old)) hubby was making eyes at me. Jealous hag.)

"Borya?"

Blank stare.

"Borya, I will make a scene if you don't answer me."

Blank stare.

A few words of advice: if someone who makes a living on stage threatens to make a scene, don't ignore them.

**Xx2 minutes laterxX**

"Fuck, Tala, why with a _spoon_?"

I shrug, sipping at my drink.

He massages his temples with the tips of his fingers and sighs.

"I'm apologize for ignoring you, but I... God, I was about to lose it."

I raise a brow. Lose it? Were my conspiracy theories too much for him? Christ, you'd think he'd be used to those in his line of work, wouldn't you? Or maybe that's it, he has to deal with enough of that as it is and he definitely doesn't need to be dealing with that as soon as he gets off and I've just royally-

"I was getting _angry_."

Angry? Bryan...

A vivid flush colors his face, and his eyes meet mine, so beautiful, so expressive, and at this moment I know he's 100 percent honest with me.

He trusts me.

Have I mentioned how I'm in love with this man?

"I was thinking about doing things an officer shouldn't do because... Because it's _you_, Tala."

His eyes flash and he looks away, snarling.

"Who the _fuck _thinks they can mess with you?" he snarls. "Who has the fucking _nerve_? I- _Damnit!_ I need to calm down."

He turns back to me, features set in a determined expression.

"I don't care what we have to do to fix this, but I will _personally _dispose of any filth that so much as _thinks _about hurting you. I'm going to call Kai tonight, and we'll go down to the station tomorrow. As far as I can ascertain, they're either bluffing or they have someone on surveillance at your house. I'd prefer not to take any chances, so it's best you stay somewhere else, somewhere safe."

(Press the pause button on the metaphorical remote, if you will.

Bryan dearest has just jumped from Ultra Sexy Passionate to Ultra Sexy Protective, then to Ultra Sexy Detective, and then back to Ultra Sexy Protective.

The pancakes at the next table over aren't what's making it hard not to drool.

Alright, you can press the play button, now.)

The sensation of his fingers on my jaw startle me. He moves them across the skin of my cheek, his gaze fixed on his hand.

"I need to protect you," he whispers.

I can't look away from his eyes, and he can't seem to meet mine. His face is flushed with embarrassment.

"Borya, I-"

"Tala."

His eyes finally meet mine, and slap me in the mouth for being a cliche, for being such a goddamn chick, but, damn it all to hell, I think I'm drowning in them.

"Until we fix this... will you stay with me?"

* * *

**Long enough? (That's what she said! teh-heh) Probably not, but it felt like a good place to cut it. Merb. SOOOOO REVIEEEEWWW, if ya will. Or send me a cheesecake in the mail. Whichever suits you. -SHQ**


	7. the night's not over

**THREE MONTHS? THREE FREAKING MONTHS SINCE I'VE UPDATED? I am ashamed.**** I know it's a lame and over used excuse, but I really am pressed for time. Rehearsal eats lives. But the show must go on, and I hope you enjoy it!** **This chapter is very much in-between-y,**** to get things moving to where they gotta be.**

**Oh, also...**

**Insane Teddy Bear, PandaPjays, Badger, soofichan, evildictionaryninja, neena14, alescA Munroe, FlourescentBlackNightmare, not the usual baka, dark-phoenix-loves-kai, StZen, you guys rock so hard for reviewing. It's dizzying, really. I love all my readers, but I WUV MY REVIEWERS!**

**Now that that's outta the way. SHQ**

* * *

"So how was work?"

I sip at the raspberry lemonade in my hands with a thoughtful expression.

"Like good sex," I reply.

"...Do I have to ask?"

"Yes, Rei. You have to ask."

"...And why was it like good sex, Tala?"

"Because it hurt so good."

"I _knew _you couldn't go a week without saying that!"

"Just like you _knew _I didn't have a shot at getting that part, right?"

"_I was just kidding!_"

I roll my eyes (because we all know that anything you say before '**jk**' is tacked on to the end is really the ugly, bitchy, nasty truth. Can't Rei just accept he was being mean for once in his goody two shoes life? Jesus.) and shrug, quickly downing the rest of my lemonade.

"Listen," I mumble, "That reminds me- I need to tell you something."

Rei nods, his eyebrows furrowed just a little.

"I was wondering when you were gonna spill it. I could tell something's eating you."

I raise a brow. Okay, so when did he steal my psychic powers?

"Care to elaborate?" I ask.

He'd better.

Rei closes his eyes and shrugs, the movement wrinkling the tacky blue fabric of his uniform.

"Well... it's just that you arrived the _exact _minute I always close up shop, which means you're either _desperate _to talk to me or you needed to talk to me _alone_, probably both."

I blink.

"Hear that silence? That's the sound of me singing your praises, Sherlock."

He rolls his eyes and hops up to sit on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Talk."

I clear my throat and begin the epic tale of What Tala Did Yesterday.

I have to pick my words carefully when Cousin Venny hits the scene. It's kind of hard to downplay the whole "Well, Yeah, a Couple of Dangerous Druggies are After Me" thing, but I do my best. Rei's paranoid enough without this. Actually, now that I think about it, none of this can be good for his little kitty psyche.

Meh. Hanging around me was going to drive him off the deep end sooner or later.

By the time I'm finished Rei has turned a few million shades paler, and from the look on his face you'd think I'd just dumped icy water all over him. (Believe me, I know that look from experience.)

"T-Tala," he chokes out, eyes wide, pupils doing that weird slitty thing they do whenever he's upset, "What the _fuck _are you going to do?"

Bryan, actually. Mentally snickering, I wag a finger at him and shake my head. "Such coarse language, kitty," I tease, "Hiwatari must be giving you a dirty mouth... Maybe in more ways than one?"

"T-Tala!" he sputters, color leaking onto his face.

Yup. I still got it.

Rei huffs and adjusts his headband, the wide-eyed fear disappearing from his features to be replaced with a concerned, calculating look.

"I'm glad you're keeping your _head _and all," (I smirk approvingly. He doesn't need to know about my initial descent into Doom Inspired Panic.) "But seriously, what are you going to do? It sounds like they probably have people watching you, and I doubt it's a one man operation. There's the possibility that he's bluffing, but that doesn't change the fact that he was desperate enough to corner you and _threaten _you, even try to force you to hand over all your cash. You _have _told the police about this, right?"

"Uh... You _do _know who I'm _dating_. Right?"

"Oh. Yeah, ha, I... yeah."

He rubs the back of his neck and waves away my little comment, doing his little awkward smile thing. (Poor Rei. Awkward moments define his life.)

"I'm actually staying with Bryan until this whole thing blows over," I admit, watching him raise a brow and smirk.

Wait... What the hell?

"What?" I snap. "I mean, think about it! It'll be safe!"

"Is that why?"

"Yes!"

"Suuure."

"_Damnit_, Rei, if you don't wipe that smug look off your face in _three seconds_-"

**_/Four seconds later/_**

"Why the _fuck _didn't you remind me you had a blackbelt?"

"That was the reminder."

I glower at him, rubbing my tender side.

oOo

Huge orange eyes stare at me pleadingly, accompanied by a low, pathetic whine.

"Look, Wolborg, you're getting into that car. Suck it up, okay?"

Whine. Whimper. Whine.

Jesus, when did Wolborg turn into such a little _bitch_?

...Actually, now that I think about it, probably around the time I had his balls chopped off.

Meh.

I sigh and commence to drag the blubbering mutt into the backseat of Bryan's car- no easy feat, I assure you, and one I thoroughly do not enjoy (you know how I feel about... shudder with me, now... _effort_).

That done, I flop down into the passenger seat beside Bryan. I know what you're thinking:

**ZOMG Tala ur ttly gonna m8k him crash cuz ur so smexzy!**

Rest assured, I appreciate the concern. Really. I do. But I you simply _must _remember who I am. I'm Tala Ivanov. Of all the incredible things I can do, controlling the Beast is one of my lesser feats, thank you very much. Maybe you should be more concerned about the fact that you think in text speak. (And don't tell me you don't. I know you do, because I'm _psychic_, bitch. Get it straight. Or not...)

"Is he going to be alright?" asks Bryan.

I twist in my seat to glance back at Wolborg, who's moaning low, sorrowful canine moans, crouched flat against the car floor as if imagining he's already road kill.

I roll my eyes.

"Don't worry, he just doesn't like cars."

A sexy little crease forms between his brows as he frowns. A few seconds pass, during which I honestly can't tell you what's happening because we're moving at roughly the speed of an STD in a red light district, which is an unholy speed that boggles the mind. The world flies past in a blur, and Bryan is smirks with a hint of insanity that makes something inside me _hungry_.

Can't. Stop. Staring.

_Damnit_, Tala! Control the Beast! CONTROL IT!

"If Wolborg doesn't like being in the car," says Bryan, voice a little rough and a lot of sex appeal, "He won't have to stay in it for very long. You don't mind if I push the speed limit a little, right? "

I shake my head dumbly, trying not to drool, struggling harder than I'll ever admit to the likes of you to keep my hands to myself.

But you hear that howling? That's the Beast, and he's so, _soooo _hungry.

oOo

Bryan's place is bitchin'.

Not because it's a palace or anything. I mean, it's a comfortable size for several people, yes, and the hardwood floors are freaking awesome, true, but that's not why this house earns the Tala Seal of Kickassitude. You wanna know why I already love this place? It's because the second I stepped through the door, it felt like I was stepping into a world he'd built just for himself.

It feels like home.

"Tala?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you standing there like that?"

I turn around to face him. I must look pretty weird right now, actually, standing here motionless in the doorway of his guest room like I'm about to pass out. There's that sexy little crease between his brows again, and his eyes are sharp with concern. It hits me like a wave that I'm alone with him. In his house. With rooms. And beds. And rooms with beds. Together. Let me just taste that in my mind for a minute... Wait, what did he just ask me?

I want a functional attention span for Christmas, damnit.

"Because," I reply.

I hope that's not a completely stupid answer...

_**/Flashback/**_

_"Hey Tala!"_

_"Hi, Rei."_

_"Listen, I got two job offers. Cool, huh? One is from this awesome little cafe-type place, and the other is from a meat-packing plant. I'm really not sure which one to pick. What should I do?"_

_"Yes."_

_"...What?"_

_"Sorry, wasn't paying attention. So have you found a job yet?"_

**_/End Flashback/_**

"Was my driving really that bad?" he asks.

Aww, poor mislead Bry-bry. I should set him straight (...wipe that look off your face, you know what I mean).

"Borya," I deadpan, "Your driving blew my mind like a gas station blowjob."

I've noticed that Bryan's blushes always spread slowly. Now is no exception. It's extremely convenient, actually, because I get to take my time enjoying the fruits of my labor. I get this amazing rush out of knowing I can get a reaction out of him. It's incredible. It makes me feel how Rei looks after I've slipped him a few grams of catnip so I can take incriminating pictures.

My thoughts are interrupted by the opening riff of one of my favorite songs floating from the pocket of Bryan's pants. He fumbles for it, still blushing.

"You missed a call earlier," he informs me, handing over the bright orange-and-white device, letting the skin of our hands touch.

I'm gonna have this stupid grin on my face for the rest of the day.

"Hello?"

_"Ivanov."_

My grin drops dead.

"Who is this?"

_"You can run, but you can't hide."_

"You stay away from me, you cheesy son of a bitch!"

Nothing answers but the sound of dead air.

* * *

**There's this part in The Crucible where Mary Warren says something along the lines of: We must all be kind to each other, ya dig? A review would mean you _do_, in fact, dig it, and dig it hard, to boot. So be groovy. SHQ**


	8. Reptilia

**I... actually don't have much to say, except that this chapter fought me. Hard. But you know what song actually helped the most? All Day Long I Dream About Sex, by J.C. Chasez. It's weird, because there's not even any smexing in this part. Odd. Well... enjoy! SHQ  
**

* * *

When I catch a cold, stomach virus, or whatever accursed illness is floating around at the time, my sick days are unfailingly spent on the couch with Wolborg. Together, we poison our minds with whatever mildly interesting combination of visual and auditory pollution we happen upon.

This consists mainly of Crime Crap.

I know what you're thinking: Don't you mean crime _drama_? Or crime _documentary_?

No, I mean Crime Crap.

Cops, True Crimes, Snapped, Bones, CSI (Crime Scene Investigation, Miami _and_ New York, thank you very much)- you name it, I've wasted fragments of my life watching it that I will never, unfortunately, get back. (Although you have to admit, there are worse ways to kill time than watching a hot tempered detective fighting with his commanding officer for being a loose cannon, savoring the sexual tension that you just _know_ is there.)

The difference between this little scenario and reality?

I'm not enjoying this one bit.

You see, Borya-dearest and his commanding officer aren't exactly seeing eye to eye. How can I tell? Well, I _am_ psychic, but there's also the fact that Bryan's voice carries amazingly well when he's angry. Certainly well enough to penetrate the closed door of his C.O.'s office and into the hallway, where I (and, for reasons I cannot fathom, half a dozen eavesdropping cops- Don't they have justice to be carrying out?) can hear him.

So why aren't I enjoying this? An angry Bryan _is_, after all, a _sexy_ Bryan.

Well…

**_//One hour earlier//_**

_"Uh… __Bryan__?"_

_Grunt._

_"I thought you could only speed and put the sirens on if there was some kind of… I don't know, emergency?"_

_"Exactly."_

_"...Right."_

**_//End flashback//_**

…he found the phone call upsetting.

Understandable, right? Hell, in case the cool calm awesomeness of how I handled the situation fooled you, I was freaking out more than Rei in a situation where he's inclined to deal with flirting girls. So when we reached the police station (which is hideous- brick and tile have never spawned such hellish progeny), I was hoping Bryan and his police-buddies could just hole up in a conference room for a while, and then, _presto_! They'd emerge with a perfect plan to solve the tangle of thorns my life has become.

Next time a commercial suggests you watch Crime Crap, just say no.

It pollutes your perception of reality and leaves you with the sensation you get when you realize that no matter how hard you thump it and no matter how hard you cry, your computer has crashed, and all of your files are gone forever. How do I know this?

Because I'm six feet deep in some serious shit, and watching (or hearing) a cop fight with boss isn't nearly as entertaining when you know that he's doing it for you.

I sigh, dig my elbows into my knees, and plop my head into my hands.

Did I mention that the mere _consideration_ of any sexual tension going on in there is threatening to drive me to assault on an officer? It doesn't help that his C.O. (Holly or Garland or something Christmas-y like that) is undeniably attractive.

A growl slithers from my throat, causing a few of the slackers around me to scoot discretely away. Cowards. Well, if there is a _whiff_ of anything _resembling_ sexual tension in that office, we'll see how _jolly_ Garland is after I stuff his sidearm up his-

"Tala."

My head jerks up at the sound of Bryan's voice. Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks to the Emergency Car Trip Here, I have come to recognize that sound as Bryan's Not Happy voice. My darling Borya is by no means all sunshine and gumdrops, but the way he said my name was a few notches above his usual score on the Menace-O-Meter.

Aaaand the look on his face suggests he's just been forced to lick a toilet scrubber. Garland stands behind him with all the expression of a snake. His hair is the color of old steel, and his eyes stare at me with cold, perfunctory interest.

"Tala, this is Lieutenant Siebald," says Bryan. The name slides off his tongue like acid.

"Lieutenant Siebald, this is Tala Ivanov."

"Garland, actually." says Garland.

Bryan glares at him, and if Lieutenant Baldy notices, he's doing a great job of not showing it.

"I've told the Lieutenant about your situation," Bryan continues, his expression suggesting that if he could _literally_ glare daggers, the corpse of Jolly Holly would be the stuff of B horror films. "And he _thinks_ he can help."

The scorn in his voice couldn't be more obvious if it was covered in glitter and lip singing Cher, but Jolly Holly ignores him.

"I'd like to coordinate a sting operation," he announces.

For those of you who don't know, a sting operation is basically a trap for criminals. A setup.

Which means I would be bait.

Excuse me while I collect my jaw from the floor.

If watching Crime Crap has taught me anything, it's that sting operations never, _never_ ever ever ever **_ever_** work. Well, at least not the way they're supposed to. What does this translate to? Me, Jolly Holly, and a heartfelt Thanks-But-No-Thanks-You-Goddamn-Lunatic.

I'm about to say as much, but something stops me: a teeny, tiny, microscopic little thought from the back of my head… Actually, it's loud, obnoxious, and at the forefront of its own parade, marching band and all. The thought?

Revenge.

Oh, come on, people. Can you _really_ blame me if I want to see the look on Cousin Venny's face when he realizes he's screwed seven ways to Sunday (maybe literally, if he has to share a cell)? That bastard has given me a lot of grief, and I want to see him _pay!_

But then again… is it really worth risking my own ass?

As I mull this over, two things happen: Bryan radiates an increasing amount of killing intent (the kind Wolborg does whenever he happens upon an innocent bunny) and the Jolly Lieutenant stares at me with an increasingly chilly stare, an impatient frown growing on his face.

"Mister Ivanov, I would like to speak to you in private, if you don't mind."

"Why?" barks Bryan.

The lieutenant brushes past him, reopens the door to his office, and looks at me expectantly.

"Mr. Ivanov, if you please?"

Why do I get the impression I don't really have a choice? Bryan looks like he's about to put Mt. Saint Helen to shame, but my instincts are telling me that for the sake of my criminal record (which is almost _completely_ clean, mind you- the thing is, I'd like to _keep_ it that way, and I'm seriously doubting that Jolly Holly is above screwing that up), I need to be in that room.

I follow him to the door, sweat dampening the back of my neck. I have come to the conclusion that the full force of Bryan's glare is like a red hot laser, which Lieutenant Baldy is somehow able to reflect onto me. Magical bastard.

Speaking of Bryan… well, Bryan is speaking. And growling. Simultaneously.

That's my baby.

"Anything you can tell him," he growls, "You can tell me."

"Yeah," I chime in, my instincts making a reappearance to remind me that there are certain people you never _really_ want to be in a room alone with, and, hey, wouldn't you know it? Lieutenant Baldy's one of them! "Can't Bryan come with us?"

"No."

oOo

He shuts the door, and it locks with a horrible little _click_ that sets my teeth on edge. I grimace and turn around, expecting to see a bare table, a flickering, sodium yellow bulb, and two bare, wooden chairs. Maybe he'll offer me a cigarette, wait till I'm good and nervous, and then pull out my old speeding tickets from his back pocket and-

Oooor it could be a regular office, with a desk, a swivel chair, two ugly chairs, and a few file cabinets.

Damnit, Ivanov. Get a grip.

"Have a seat."

"I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you."

Jolly Holly raises his brow and gives me a considering look, as if he's just noticed me. Which is insulting. If he wants me to do anything, he's going to learn that I consider attention a _given_, damnit! He folds his arms across his chest and stares at me.

Who the _hell_ does he think he is?

Well, two can play at that game. I don't care what kind of BAMF, cop things he's done in the past- I have been _threatened_ at **knifepoint** by a stalker, wannabe Mafioso. Jolly Holly thinks he can punk me out? He's got another thing coming.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the door, checking the growl that threatens to loose itself from my throat and schooling my features to look coolly unimpressed… Time passes. And here we are. Staring at each other wordlessly, arms crossed, like two macho jackasses.

Oh joy.

"So… this is where my tax dollars go, huh?"

Glare away, Jolly Holly. See where it gets you.

"Mr. Ivanov, I can see I'll have to be direct. Listen, I need your cooperation to make this work."

"Who said I'd do the sting in the first place? Bryan doesn't seem to think it's such a good idea, if you haven't noticed."

"Kuznetsov," he sneers, striding over to one of the file cabinets and removing a few papers, "Hasn't had much _experience_ with good ideas."

He drops them onto his desk.

"Please have a look at these, Mr. Ivanov."

I stalk over to his desk, a Foreboding Feeling roiling in my stomach. The memory of Bryan holding Crackhead Jimmy's conviction papers triumphantly in his hands flashes through my mind, and I bite back a groan. What _is_ it with cops and portentous papers?

"This is the paperwork necessary to ban an officer from the force."

Wait, what?

Oh.

_Oh._

Doublefuck.

"You can't just fire him because he doesn't agree with you!" I hiss. "_I_ don't fucking agree with you!"

I feel like bashing my head against the desk. Maybe it'll dash out all the stupid. What the hell was I thinking about revenge? As if I needed _more_ bad karma (This entire situation is proof that Fate, _that heinous bitch_, is _desperate_ for any excuse to screw me over)! What I _do_ need is for Jolly Holly here to stop _glaring_ at me and see **reason**, because if he fires Bryan for trying to protect me I'll… _Damnit_, I'll…!

"Mr. Ivanov, I would never fire an officer merely for disagreeing with me. However, if I feel that an officer is misusing his position, working based on _personal motives_ and allowing _exterior factors_ to influence his actions… Why, I just might."

The Lieutenant smiles at me like a snake would smile. He picks up the papers and slides them neatly into the filing cabinet. I watch him, and I know that my eyes are cold because that's all I can feel right now. Cold fear, and cold fury.

"Kuznetsov finds himself in a very peculiar position. Is he the type of officer I just described? Or is he willing to do what's necessary to get the job done? A major, successful operation- like a sting, perhaps –might just help me decide."

He pauses, staring at me with those fucking snake eyes that I am truly beginning to hate.

"But Kuznetsov can't do a thing without your cooperation, now can he?"

He sinks into his swivel chair and stares, letting the silence sit. Fucking. Bastard. My hands clench into fists, and thoughts of me, Wolborg, Jolly Holly, and a dark alley flash through my mind. Oh, what I would _give_ to wipe that smug little smirk off of his face!

Unfortunately… I know what I _wouldn't_ give.

I can't let Bryan down.

The silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time, and it's aggravating the hell out of me because he probably thinks he's winning.

He _is_, but that's not the point.

"Why the hell are you so bent on a sting?" I demand.

"Evidence, of course."

He answers calmly, inspecting his nails. I hope he gets attacked by a rabid hobo who rips them off one by one! I narrow my eyes and press my hands against his desk, leaning on his desk and into his personal space. If he cares, he's not showing it, and it_is**pissing**_ME**_OFF_**!

"Evidence?!" I snarl. "Why the _hell_ would I lie about something like this? Why would _Bryan_ lie about it?"

"Mr. Ivanov, I can't explain why people do what they do. What I can do is gather facts and act accordingly."

"You want facts? Okay, how about the phone call I got a few hours ago? _That's_ pretty damn factual."

"The call Kuznetsov told me about?"

"No, the one E.T. made. _Yes_, that one!"

"Mr. Ivanov, that was hardly a confession. You can't even prove that it was the suspect that called you."

My hand clenches into a fist, raises, and slams into his desk, but I don't blink. Garland abandons his nail-inspection and glares at me warningly, but I don't care. My teeth are bared, and I haven't seen this much red since the horror flick marathon that played last Halloween.

So this is what homicidal rage feels like.

"If you want _evidence_," I grind out, "Then you should _investigate_. Interrogate people. Look through files. Hell, use the Good Cop-Bad Cop routine if you have to! But you will fucking well **_banish the thought_** of **_forcing_** me to do something I don't want to do, you manipulative asshole!"

My fist slams against his desk again as I finish, my voice echoing through the room. He blinks up at me, then gazes down at his desk.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

His response is quiet. Gentle, almost. After my little yelling bout, that's… pretty freaking unsettling. I cross my arms over my chest and frown down at him uneasily. He looks up, frowning in return.

"I didn't take you seriously, and for that I apologize. But I need you to take me seriously, as well."

My left eye twitches.

He rubs his temples with a sigh.

"The suspect is Rémy Jimme. Age 32. Medium build. Black hair, dark eyes, and a rap sheet I don't want to think about. Due to the incompetence of the French authorities, he managed to flee the country and worm his way into _this_ one. Obviously, that's not a good thing. The French authorities are threatening to suspend my rank indefinitely if I don't get the situation under control. Soon."

I shake my head dumbly.

"Are we talking about the same person? Because the guy who pulled a knife on me was _not_ putting out the 'international crime boss' vibe."

"He isn't one."

"Then why is he such a big deal?"

"Jimme deals in information: who did what, when, and where. That's why he's so valuable, both to the police and to other criminals. The fact that his cousin's debt transferred to him makes him more of a target here."

"So, doesn't that mean it should be easier to find him, then?"

He shakes his head.

"Quite frankly, Mr. Ivanov, Rémy Jimme is a sneaky piece of shit. He knows how to cover his tracks. But he can't remain invisible while he owes money to people who will kill for it. If I don't use this opportunity to draw him out, I'll be forced to launch an investigation that will threaten my rank, consume money my department doesn't have, and potentially cause _you_ harm. Which brings us back to square one. Will you cooperate with a sting operation?"

I slump into one of the ugly chairs in front of his desk with a curse.

"You know, you're supposed to use reason first. _Then_ come the threats."

He looks at me the way Rei does whenever I try to explain my sense of cute. If I was in a better mood, I'd laugh.

"What, don't you watch daytime television?"

"No, and now I doubt I ever will. Do you have an answer, Mr. Ivanov?"

I look towards the door. I wonder if Bryan's still out there? I hope I didn't freak him out with the yelling.

I hope he isn't upset.

I don't want him to be upset.

I want him happy.

"Mr. Ivanov?"

"Would you really fire him?"

The Lieutenant folds his hands on his desk and leans forward in his swivel chair. "Kuznetsov," he says carefully, "Is a good officer. He could go far. However, I don't have the time or the patience to deal with his distrust in authority."

What. The. Hell?

"_Distrust in authority? _He's a cop!"

"Who continuously questions his superiors."

"I don't blame him! What was it you said about _your rank_ being threatened if you don't catch Jimme?"

"That doesn't change the fact that right now, he's thinking with his heart instead of his head."

"Oh, nice save."

"If he can prove that he can follow orders," he continues, ignoring my comment, "And act _logically_, despite his ties to you, I will look past his other shortcomings. But if he can't, this is not the place he needs to be."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"You're a malicious person. Believe me, takes one to know one."

I pause. He doesn't even deny it, the snake-faced bastard.

"But," I continue, "I think I understand why you want to do a sting. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure you don't screw Bryan over."

"Is that a yes, Mr. Ivanov?"

"Almost. It's a You-Screw-This-Up-And-I'll-Have-Your-Badge-And-Your-Balls."

He nods gravely and rises from his swivel chair.

"I'm glad we had this talk, Mr. Ivanov. I think you'll be a good influence on Kuznetsov."

Me? A good influence?

… was that a flock of bacon I just saw flying south?

I shake my head and eye the door warily.

"I am _not_ looking forward to telling Bryan that I'm going through with this," I sigh.

"I wouldn't worry," says the Lieutenant, walking casually towards the door.

"Which is exactly why," I mutter, "I get the feeling things are about to go right straight to hell."

* * *

**If you're like me, one of your New Years resolutions will be to leave more reviews. Go ahead and get a head start. Oh, and if you're a fan of KaRe, don't forget to check out my new fic, **Yours, Really and Truly**, yeah? More style, more power. SHQ**


	9. Tell us a story

_No, Favourite, it's not on hiatus. I just suck at managing my time wisely. T_T So, I'll say it long and loud: **I SUCK AT LIFE AND ****I'M SOOOORY AND ****PLEASE DON'T STOP READING ****WE CAN MAKE IT WORK MAMA LOOOVES YOOOOUUU! GAH I CAN'T EVEN COMPLAIN ABOUT MY FAVOURITE STORIES NOT BEING UPDATED BECAUSE I'M A HORRIBLE NOT-UPDATER AND I AM NOT WOOORTHY!** Ahem. Now that that's out of the way. There's some Kai/Rei-ness going on during the first part, so if that's not your thing... skip it. I wanted to make it longer, cuz I'm gonna introduce a character (Hint: He's ultra-short!), but I'll wait. I will try harder, and I apologize once more! Now, please enjoy. SHQ_

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_A/N: According to the American Society of Florists, yellow tulips mean "hopelessly in love."_

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_

It was late evening. Walking from the café to a small parking lot around the corner, where his car (a sad, small thing in need of washing) waited, Rei Kon hummed. The song was an old one, a folksong he'd never heard outside of the village he'd grown up in. But the melody was calm and lilting: exactly what he needed. The words drifted through his head, scattered amongst the less peaceful thoughts crowding his mind.

_I found a flower in the grass_, he hummed, one hand fishing in his pocket for his car keys. He huffed, pouting. That's how this whole thing started, didn't it? Tala just _had_ to speed, just _had_ to get mixed up with Bryan, who just _had_ to get Tala mixed up with this "Ilea Jimmé" character. Rei frowned and shook his head—that wasn't fair of him. Tala had a good thing with Bryan, and Bryan's intentions were good…

But the fact remained that someone wanted to hurt his best friend.

_I found a flower…_ he hummed, and sighed. Why was he worrying so much? Bryan was a cop, right? He'd make sure the police took care of Tala. So would Kai. He rounded the corner, the parking lot coming into view, and considered the name.

Kai. Kai, Kai, Kai. Gorgeous, intelligent, witty Kai who'd taken Rei out for an amazing date and _had not called again_.

The song died in his throat, and he trudged up to his car feeling as Thoroughly Defeated as one can possibly feel on a Friday night.

Which (considering how his plans for the evening consisted of curling up on the couch with Drigger and numbing his brain with old Samurai flicks until he couldn't worry himself sick over Tala or think about Kai) was pretty miserable.

As he jammed his key into the lock (no fancy remote lock/un-locker thingy for him- fate had blessed him with a Jurassic Park reject for a car), his eyes drifted to his windshield. There was a bright yellow slip of paper tucked neatly under the windshield wipers. It looked suspiciously like a ticket.

Groaning, Rei snatched the paper up. Yep. It was a ticket, in all its hellish glory. Made out to Rei Kon, with the charge of… Look behind your left front tire? For a few long seconds, his brain provided him with a mental Blue Screen of Death, leaving him to stand puzzled, alone, and vaguely nervous in the parking lot. Was… was this some kind of joke? W-what if this was a _trap_?

His eyes widened. What if Ilea Jimme had found out he was close to Tala and planted a bomb behind the wheel of his tire and of _damn it all to **HELL** he was going to die **ALONE** on a **FRIDAY**!_

He stared at the ticket with mounting horror… and then he noticed the signature at the corner.

Kai Hiwatari.

Mind curiously blank, his heart in his throat, Rei squatted down in front of the tire and reached behind it. His hand brushed against something. He grabbed it, and when his hand reemerged, it held a bright yellow tulip.

Rei twirled it around in his fingers, drinking in the color, unaware of the grin stealing across his face or the fact that he'd started humming again. He drove home with the flower placed carefully in the passenger seat beside him, feeling lighter than air.

oOo

I hate my life.

Listen up, mortals, I have an announcement to make: An angry Bryan is a sexy Bryan, but when that anger is, in any way, shape, or form, directed at _you_… you've screwed up on a catastrophic scale.

Enter me, Tala Ivanov. Handsome, in love, and _too young to die, godamnit!_ Specifically, too young to suffer Death by Bryan's Glare. I refuse, however, to die in a building this ugly. Or, more specifically, this ugly little corner in this cramped, ugly hallway in this hateful, ugly building.

JesusGod, I'd kill myself.

"Tala," growls Bryan, "Are you trying to kill me?"

Wait… what?

He must see my confusion, because he levels me with the kind of look you'd give a person trying to buy a burger with Monopoly money.

"Exactly what part of 'I need to protect you'," he clarifies, brows knitted in frustration, "did you not _understand_?"

I rub nervously at the back of my neck. Usually, bending/avoiding/laughing-in-the-ugly-face-of truth is no problem for me, but I'm about two more seconds of Bryan's Laser Glare of Doom away from spilling the proverbial beans all over this ugly floor. Shitshitshit.

What would a BAMF do?

"Bryan, listen. You have every reason to be mad at me…"

_And that's supposed to help?_ That's what Bryan's saying, right now. With his face. Which is somehow worse than if he'd said it out loud.

"But," I continue, "I think this is for the best. So, trust me on this, okay?"

Three things immediately come to my attention.

I've spewed my share of bullshit in my time (and by "my share" I mean ton upon metric ton)… but I think this might just take the cake. I _really_ need Bryan to go with this. Which sucks, because Bryan has Anti-Bullshit senses that put Spiderman's "Spidey Senses" to utter shame.

This in mind, I watch Bryan's reaction. Item 3 on my little list is making itself painfully obvious, mainly because I consider myself an expert on Bryan-Watching, and right now, the signs are suggesting that I haul ass the hell out of here. His fists are clenched, his knuckles have gone white. His face is gone almost completely blank, with the exception of his right eye, which is twitching slightly.

"Tala…" he whispers.

There's no hint of anger or disbelief in his voice, which means… Holy hell. I think he's gonna buy it. He is _actually_ going to buy it.

**_Yes!_**

For _once_, Fate is smiling down on Tala Ivanov!

"…I don't buy that bullshit for one second."

Fate, you _dirty_, _filthy_… do I even need to say it?

"I don't know why you're doing this," he continues, folding his arms across his chest, his expression… resigned? "I think you're being a dumbass. But I'm going to protect you. I got you into this, and I'm going to get you out. And…"

In the privacy of this ugly little corner in this cramped, ugly hallway in this hateful, ugly building, he closes the distance between us and brushes his mouth against mine, lips rough and warm and gone entirely too soon.

"…no one gets to touch you but me."

"O-officer Kuznetsov?"

The question squeaks from a Police Academy knock-off of Rob the Intern standing behind Bryan. Reluctantly, we break the kiss.

This had the potential to be incredibly awkward. Being caught kissing your boyfriend by said boyfriend's coworker is generally considered to be an awkward thing, right? Wrong. Rage is slowly seeping from my pores and devouring all the awkward. It's a massacre of awkward.

It's about to be a regular old massacre.

Slowly, I edge towards the unnamed intern who thought he could prance around, ruining _moments_, and fix him with a stare that makes his hands shake and the potted plants behind him wilt. Before I can get within maiming distance, however, he stutters something about a meeting about to begin in office six and dashes away faster than an Olympic sprinter injected with 420 ounces of cocaine. I scowl and narrow my eyes.

He can run, but he can't hide.

"Tala, homicide is illegal."

Okay, Bryan, that earns you my Unhappy Look (which has made small children cry and squirrels fall to the ground spasming, just for the record). Bryan rolls his eyes and grabs my wrist, dragging me, I'm assuming, towards office six.

"Oh?" I huff, yanking my wrist out of his hand (an action which takes more willpower than I'm going to admit to myself, much less to you) "And when did you become psychic?"

He glances back at me and smirks, brows raised like he sees something funny. Which is puzzling, because he's looking at _me_, and I am certainly not amusing. BAMFs are not amusing. It's the law. I frown, preparing to educate him about my distinct lack of amusing-ness when he replies, something like a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.

"Around the time you took up keeping an internal monologue."

…Shit.

Bryan's smirk returns, and hardens as we approach an office with a white number six painted onto the door.

* * *

_Review please? Thoughts, complaints, suggestions... It is like kibble for my muse, which has a strange fetish for kibble. Also! We all have favorite, fantastic stories that are slowly rotting in non-updatedness... name yours! It's _Song of Mine_ for me. What are yours? With love and squalor~ SHQ_


	10. DISCONTINUED

**THIS STORY IS BEING DISCONTINUED.  
**

I'm sorry, guys, but this was never really meant to be more than a one-shot. The plot's really kicking me in the butt, and I've got exams coming up. Something had to give. I really appreciate all the support you've given me, and I want to thank all my reviewers and readers for staying with me so far. I'll continue to write other stories here and there, but don't expect any updates for this particular project in the foreseeable future. I'm not sure where I was going with it, anyway. I'm so sorry. Forgive me? Thanks for your time. -SHQ

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SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**_AprilFool's!_**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**SHQ**

As an apology for that cruel bit of deception, please accept this sneak peak into a future Tala/Bryan story by your's truly! :D

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Bryan Kuznetsov was Not A Happy Camper.

Shaggy, ash colored hair framed a snarling face, and cold silver eyes gleamed with fury. His hands tightened around the shredded bundle of leather and dented metal that, once upon a time, had been his favorite belt. And now...

"What the _fuck_," he spat, "Happened to my _belt_, Spencer?"

In front of him, a tall, heavily muscled young man suppressed a whimper.

"I kinda..."

He trailed off, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Bryan growled and purposefully directed his glare towards Spencer's pet fish. It darted behind the little plastic castle in its bowl. Spencer gulped.

"I _washed_ it, okay! I'm sorry! I'll pay for it, I swear!"

Bryan placed his fingers on his temples in a vain attempt to stave off his mounting migraine, cursing under his breath.

"Alright," he grunted, willing himself to calm down, "Pay up, then. I have work tonight."

oOo

There was a bug on the counter in front of him.

It was small: cute, almost, with a phosphorescent green shell and two bulbous, ruby colored eyes. It scuttled along, paused, and continued.

Tala sighed and swept it off the surface, biting back the urge to take the register and smash the tiny creature into a damp smear. That might scare the customers... well, not really. This _was _Hot Topic after all. Dog collars and combat boots were marked 15% off next to skeleton plushies, band shirts, and belts with bullets welded onto them.

Most of the shoppers would probably laugh.

But then he'd have had to strangle them, and he _really _needed this job. A _stertorous_ growl erupted from his stomach, reminding him exactly _why_. He glanced around the store, peering around the clothing racks, shelves, and browsing customers. A familiar green ponytail bobbed into view.

"Kevin!" he yelled, "Get over here!"

Tala smirked as his co-worker stomped up to him in all his vertically challenged glory, arms crossed angrily over his chest. The whole pissed-as-hell look was kind of ruined, though, by the way his oversized band shirt and heavily chained pants draped from his form, exaggerating his small size.

In fact, were it not for the sharp spikes of the dog collar around his neck, his sharp violet glare, his personality, and- well, his demeanor in general, Kevin Ki might have approached...

"The _fuck _do you want, asshole?"

Adorable.

"I'm running over to the food court for a minute," said Tala, pulling off his nametag. "Man the stations, would you?"

Tala was already out from behind the counter, counting the cash in his wallet with a thin frown on his face. Didn't he have a twenty in there just yesterday? Kevin jumped over the counter with a derisive snort, chains jingling. "Whatever," he huffed. "Just bring me back some fortune cookies, alright?"

"Yeah," Tala muttered.

Still frowning at his distinct lack of cash, he exited the calm, dark haven of Hot Topic and entered the bustling insanity of West Point Mall.

oOo

Bryan Kuznetsov was not an actively hateful person.

He was just full of hatred.

He didn't _try _to hate butterflies, board games, or 98% of the human population. He didn't _try _to hate shopping. He didn't _try _to hate malls. The hatred was just there, naturally, and usually that wasn't a problem. Butterflies and board games, at least, he could avoid. And shopping? Something to be done on his handy-dandy laptop.

But this wasn't one of those times.

He needed a new belt by _tonight_, and as wonderful as internet shopping was, it wasn't going to be fast enough. This in mind, Bryan entered West Point Shopping Mall the way a soldier enters a battlefield: game face on, guard up, and 100% Ready For Something To Go Down.

Something about shopping centers did that to him.

A small, green eyed little girl, clinging to her mother's hand, stopped directly in front of him. He paused. She fixed him with the wide-eyed, unblinking stare generally associated with small animals. Bryan scowled at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She wailed. Huge tears dripped down her cheeks.

"Haley!" cried her mother, a plump, broad faced woman, "Haley Pinkerton, what has gotten _into _you? Do I need to up your medication, young lady?!" She dragged little Haley Pinkerton into the bustling crowd of shoppers, the little girl's cries melting into the white noise of the crowd.

Bryan sighed. _This _was why he didn't do malls.

* * *

This is my third favorite day of the year... but maybe you guessed that. SHQ


	11. you're not boring

**Classes are almost _dooone!_ Just a few more exams, and then I'll have plenty of free time to write! Sorry for the grotesquely long wait. This chapter is horrendously short, as well, but my April Fool's joke was beginning to seem less and less facetious, so I needed to post something. Anywho, thanks for reading! SHQ  
**

**

* * *

  
**

I've never actually bought into that "describe yourself in one word" crap. I mean, how could one _possibly_ hope to encompass the complex wonder of life that is Tala Ivanov in one measly little word? But there's a first time for everything, and now is one of those times. What adjective, you ask, could possibly come close to describing me? Is it 'gorgeous'? Incredible? Kickass?

No. Right now, I am decidedly gadoid. As in:

**gadoid**  
_adj., n._ - (fish) of the cod family

No, I haven't grown scales or gills (I don't blame you for jumping to that ridiculous conclusion, though, becasue Fate is an almighty _bitch_ as of late), but judging from the way my mouth can't seem to stop this horrible cycle of _gape, snap shut, _and _repeat-_ I'm a fish out of water.

Which is just _not_ going to work.

The reason my proverbial panties are in such a twist is sitting at the other end of a grainy yellow conference table, one (_eeeeeviiiiiillllll_) violet eye staring curiously at me. The other (_eeeeeeviiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllll_) eye is hidden by a sweep of (tacky! and _evil!_) dark green hair, the rest of which is pulled up into a ponytail that I would **punch a cancer child in the face** for the privilege of yanking out of his _effing_ skull.

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you The Adversary.

_**//One year ago//**_

_As Tala walked (away from a satisfying round of humiliating Rei in front of customers) to his car, a strange feeling struck him. _

_A sudden pain. Something breaking. Something damaged. _

_Frowning, he quickened his pace. If he could just make it back to his brand spankin' new Firebird, he'd feel fine! Just thinking about the sexy, sleek build of the vehicle, the flawless midnight paintjob, the deep purr of the engine… It was worth every hellish hour spent teaching those community ballet lessons after work. _

_He smirked as he turned the corner, car keys jingling in his hand-_

_-and promptly falling on the ground._

_His… his baby. _

_His beautiful __**baby**__! The windshield and front windows were destroyed- there was glass _everywhere_- and the door, the goddamn _door_, it was _crushed inwards_, and oh, oh hell, the __**paint**__-! The slam of a car door shutting broke him out of his horrified trance. _

_A dull green van was quickly backing away, its front end newly plastered with dents and scrapes. At the wheel, he saw a short figure with violet, feline eyes and dark green hair glance anxiously his way before flooring it, speeding off down the street._

_**// End traumatizing experience flashback //**_

I don't like thinking about what I had to do to pay for the repairs. (Get your mind out of the gutter, I taught more community ballet lessons. I spent some quality bonding time with my good friend vodka afterwards, but I made it through.) But this- this- _demon spawn_ before me…

...I really, _really_ feel like putting that whole "Homicide is illegal, Tala" thing Bryan said to the test.

The bastard blinks at me and cocks his head to the side, squinting.

"Hey… you look kinda familiar. Do I owe you money?"

My jaw snaps shut once more before parting into a savage grimace.

"Do you owe me _money_?" I hiss. I stalk towards him, blind and deaf to the other cops. They can suck it. But _this_ bastard…

"Do you know," I whisper, "How much window replacements and body repairs for a _Firebird_- a _1998 Pontiac Trans Ams_, okay, with a _custom fucking paintjob_ -costs? Do you? Do you know?"

The Adversary just smirks.

My nails dig into my palms, hands shaking with the urge to open up a can of whoop-ass the likes of which would make Chuck Norris himself cry like a little bitch. This bastard is **so** lucky he's handcuffed, because otherwise I'd rip off his evil little hands and stuff him down his throat until he-

-wait. Handcuffs?

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" I sneer. "Got caught busting up someone else's treasured possessions?"

"_This_ is Tala Ivanov?" he scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "Geez, Garland, you coulda warned me I was gonna be stuck bailing out _Satan_."

…He _wants_ to be bitch-slapped.

My body is apparently two steps ahead of me, because suddenly my hand is in the air, pulled back, ready pop forward and kiss this jackass good_night_, but someone catches it. Someone with strong, sexy hands.

Damnit, Bryan! Not! Fair!

"Tala," he warns, voice laced with an undertone of _I-Don't-Know-Or-Agree-With-What's-Going-On, But-Just-Go-With-It-Like-A-Good-Love-Slave_, "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this."

"Bryan," I mollify, the very picture of calm as long as you ignore my hand poised in pre-smiting position #15, "This asshole pulled a little something I like to call hit and run. On my Firebird. Since he never paid any cash for the repairs," I explain, eyes shooting enough fire at The Adversary to burn Hell itself (I'm pleased to note the uneasy frown beginning to drag at the little douchebag's mouth), "He can pay for my pain and suffering… with some pain and suffering of his own. Don't you agree?"

"_Tala_."

His voice drips with a not-so-subtle undertone of _You-Think-Your-Pimp-Hand-Is-Strong? We'll-See-Whose-Is-Stronger-If-You-Keep-This-Up_.

With a long suffering sigh, I let my arm drop, glaring vaguely behind me before fixing The Adversary with the sort of glare I usually reserve for mimes, tax-collectors, and people who sodomize jokes by demanding explanations.

For the first time, I notice how quiet the room has gotten.

"So," announces Bryan, moving to stand beside me. He stares coolly down at The Adversary, but you don't have to be an expert Bryan-watcher (like yours truly) to tell he's sort of pissed enough to destroy a petting zoo with his bare hands. And by sort of, I mean completely. "Who wants to explain what the hell Kevin Ki is doing here?"

oOo

"So let me get this straight. You're making a petty criminal-"

"Active informant," pipes the hell spawn.

"Petty criminal," I continue, "Set this whole thing up?"

"No." Garland, seated next to said hell spawn, is all cool calm cockiness. I flash him a half-hearted glare before scowling back down at the table. You can only give someone the Evil Eye so much before the thought of anything less than an Evil Foot Up Their Ass begins to grate on your nerves. "We set it up," continues Jolly Holly. "But he will be a necessary factor."

"But he doesn't have to be," I point out. Bryan shifts beside me, clearly agitated, but I ignore him. "I mean, this is sort of how I pictured it: I meet Jimme somewhere, wearing a cleverly concealed wire, he tries to take the cash, and BAM! You guys swoop in. Short and sweet. What's wrong with that?"

My undeniable logic is met with a snort, courtesy of The Little Demon That Could.

"Are you a _complete_ dumbass?" he sneers. "Even a complete retard would check for wires. And even if it's 'cleverly concealed', you're forgetting that Jimme's paranoid as hell. According to my sources, he's gotten his hands on at least three different ways to disable wires."

I consider myself a logical person, and- God help us all –he's actually making _sense_. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"Oh?" I inquire, stuffing more disdain into that one syllable than Wolborg can stuff woodland creatures into his mouth. Which is, quite frankly, an ass ton. "Then what do you suggest we do to collect evidence? Transmit what he's saying through fucking _telepathy_?"

"Your best bet as far as getting evidence," he continues, as if I hadn't spoken (He will pay _dearly_ for that), "Is a basic recording device. Battery operated, nothing fancy. Calling for backup… well, just leave that to me."

I blink. And then I laugh, the kind of laugh any Disney villain would be proud of.

"Silly me," I chuckle. "I must have heard you wrong. It sounds like you just implied I'll have to trust you. With my life."

"Look, asswipe," he growls, proverbial hackles rising, giving him the impression of a furious Chihuahua. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be! I don't like you and I didn't ask for this, so get over your fucking car and get over yourself so I can get this _over_ with!"

"Why the hell should I trust you?" I hiss.

He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, arms crossed as much as his handcuffs will allow.

"Let me put it this way," he mutters. "There's a lovely electronic accessory clamped around my ankle right now. If I help your sorry ass, I get to take it off without jail time. So, yeah- you're not screwing this up for me."

I grit my teeth and prepare to growl out a few choice words…

…but then _Thriller _starts to blare from my pocket.

Don't ask me why Rei gets _Thriller_ as a ringtone. That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that I have a few more bones to pick with this bastard, but I can't really do that while my phone is ringing, and I can feel everybody staring at me and _damnit_ Rei is in for the bitch fit of the _century_ when I answer this phone!

Still glaring at The Adversary, I fish the phone from my pocket and flip it open, silencing Micheal Jackson's voice right at '_You try to scream..._'

"What?" I snap.

There is no immediate response. Just a soft, hoarse sound, like panting… the hell? I frown, anger rushing out of me with the speed of air from a violently stabbed balloon. Desperately shoving all thoughts of violent stabbing out of my mind, I try again for an answer, voice deepening just a little with… _stress_ (not panic- panic is for pussies).

"Rei? Rei?" I hear that soft, hoarse sound again and clutch the phone a little tighter. "Rei," I hiss, "You better let me hear that beautiful voice of yours before I hunt you down and _throttle it out of you!_"

"…T-tala?" Rei whispers. He sounds like he's had eight out of his nine lives scared out of him. "Don't be so loud, okay?"

I officially Do Not Like where this is going.

"_Why?_"

"I… I came home, and my stuff is everywhere and, I mean-" He pauses, taking a shuddery breath. "Tala, somebody broke in."

"_**What?!**_"

"_Not so_ _loud_," he hisses savagely.

Oh God. Was it Jimme? Is it Jimme? Shit. Shitshitshit. I should've gotten the hell out of town when he pulled that knife on me. Now he's after Rei? Shit. Shit. Shit. While I'm having my quiet little meltdown, Rei has one of his own. His words are flying at twice the speed of swine flu.

"I think maybe someone's here," he whispers. "I mean, at first I thought maybe Drigger had just gone weird or sick or something and knocked over stuff, because the door was locked and everything, but then I got to the kitchen and there was food from the fridge everywhere and just a bunch of other stuff and then I heard something but I was too far from the door to get out so I went to the closet and now I'm in here and I don't know what to _do_-"

"Shut up."

He shuts up.

Okay. No more melting down. I can deal with this. I'm Tala freakin' Ivanov, and I can deal with this. Every cop (and the mini-crook) in this suffocatingly ugly room is staring at me, but that's okay, because I'm a BAMF, and I can deal with this.

So you know what, Fate? Suck it.

"Breathe," I order.

He breathes.

"Now, this is the important part: _Do not freak out on me._"

"I'm not-"

"Before we delve into your bout of denial, I'm going to work on getting you some help. Do not freak out. Do not hang up. I'm on my way, okay?"

Ignoring the jackasses around me, I turn to Bryan. Judging from the look on his face, I think he has a pretty good idea of what's going on. Still, I open my mouth and prepare to give him one of my infamous Tala Commands 'N' Explanations™ (which consist mainly of _Move your ass_ and _Because I said so, bitch_). But he interrupts me before I get so much as an 'M' out.

"What are you waiting for?"

Under the table, he gives my leg a quick squeeze. My brain shuts down for a second or two. It's hard to do anything but watch as he pushes his chair back and stands, drawing himself up to his full height… but I, being so hardcore, manage to clamber out of my chair, too.

"Kinomiya!" he barks, eyes glinting like shards of steel, "Mizuhara! Organize two teams! Let every active unit in the area know we might need backup! What the hell are you sitting _around_ for?" he snarls. "_MOVE YOUR ASSES!_"

The room erupts into a flurry of movement, everyone racing for the door, tripping over themselves to do what Bryan orders.

…have I mentioned I'm in love with this guy?

* * *

**Reviews are so, so encouraging. Feedback is the ramen this story needs to grow strong and fulfill its dream of becoming the next Hokage! I mean... yeah. See, this is what I get for posting at one in the morning. Review, and we shall see what the heck is up with Rei and... well, what random fact do you wanna know about Tala? I'll work it in somehow. May the force be with you! SHQ**


	12. the wait is over

**So… that unofficial hiatus sucked. My bad? I can (unless something **truly and utterly heinous** happens) guarantee there won't be another seven month delay, come hell or high water. Or exams. I can't thank you enough for sticking it out with me, and I offer my deepest and humblest apologies for the wait. You can't see it, but I'm on my knees, groveling. Just take my word for it, okay? Sweet. SHQ **

* * *

Every now and then someone will say _'Oh, blah blah blah terrible thing happened, and time stood still.'_

I want you to know they're liars.

Time doesn't stand still, no matter what shitty thing happens. If it did, it'd actually give you time to _think_, time for things to make sense, time for whatever horrible thing that's happening to stop. It would make things too easy.

How do I know? Because a few things just happened:

A) We made it to Rei's apartment building.

B) A bang like a car backfiring came from the second floor... where Rei lives.

C) The line went dead.

Time is _not_ standing still.

Time, in my opinion, is speeding like a goddamn bullet train. My heart is _pounding_ in my ears and I wish more than anything that I could press a rewind button until life made sense again.

But I'm a BAMF, damnit. I can handle this… I can't afford not to.

Bryan bellows some sort of copspeak into his radio, and police immediately begin to swarm the building. I lurch out of the car to join them, but a firm hand latches onto the collar of my shirt, pulling me up short. I grit my teeth, turning to deal him the kind of glare that makes things _burn_.

"What the hell?" I growl. "Let me go!"

"Wait," he orders.

Silver eyes pin me, and suddenly I couldn't move if I wanted to. _Damn_ it, Bryan!

"I _can't_-"

"Tala."

I clutch the phone in my hands. It starts to blare _Thriller_.

"Holy shit," I mutter, fumbling to flip it open. "Rei?"

"Not exactly."

The flying fuck?

"_And who the flying fuck is this?_"

"Hiwatari. Tell Kuznetsov to get his ass up here." A pause. "I suppose you should come, too."

The line goes dead, and Kai Hiwatari secures himself a cozy little spot on my Death List.

oOo

I'm not a nice person- really, truly, and I shit you not.

However, by the time we reach Rei's apartment, I'm pissed, out of breath, and I don't feel pretty. 'Not nice' doesn't cut it. Neither does homicidal. Au contraire, when I see Hiwatari's cool, composed, drool-worthy face, _**I'm ready to go psycho-bitch on his punk ass**_.

But before I can take a single step towards him, Rei launches himself at me.

I'm a BAMF, and BAMFs don't do hugs… but I didn't initiate this hug, so it doesn't really count.

"Tala!" he exclaims, squeezing just a _tad_ bit tighter than my spine can really tolerate, "I'm so glad you're here! I'm sorry I dropped the phone, but the gunshot startled me and-"

"Rei," I interrupt, breaking his python Grip of Death, "Breathe. Now what the _hell_ happened?"

Rei goes pale.

"Well, uh…"

"We think Jimme broke in," says Hiwatari. "He trashed the place, obviously. He also left a warning in the kitchen; that was the noise Rei heard."

"A warning?" questions Bryan.

Tall, Strong and Sexy is over by… what was _once_ Rei's couch, where two cops are taking pictures. I glance around the rest of the room with a grimace. The bastard must have had a knife. There are slash marks everywhere. What if Rei had been home?

I want this over.

"A rat," Hiwatari replies.

Bryan frowns.

"And you shot it…?"

"It was rabid."

Bryan sighs.

"What were you doing here, anyway? You're not on duty today."

Boys and girls, I think we've hit the million dollar question.

I smirk, watching Rei go from Man-in-the-Moon pale to STD-Shameful scarlet. Kai answers with a smirk of his own… which makes me want to punch his lights out. And I _would_, but then Rei (with his stupid little black belt) would kick _my_ ass, and Bryan would have to kick _his_ ass, and it would end in a vicious cycle of ass-kickery.

But I digress.

"_Officer Kuznetsov? Sir?" _

The voice crackles from Bryan's radio. Bryan snatches it eagerly from his belt.

"Mizuhara, did you find anything?"

"_Just a time of arrival, sir. Nobody was on the first floor but the janitor, and he didn't see anything. The neighbors heard stuff breaking around 11:00 a.m., but they didn't so much as take a peek. Nothing useful from any other residents, either, sir."_

"Surveillance?"

"_No, sir. But the surveillance system is just a camera in the lobby."_

"Shit. Kinomiya's team?"

"_He said the area's pretty much clear. Sorry,sir."_

"Fine. We'll finish evidence and pull out."

"_You got it, sir!"_

"Mizuhara."

"_Sir?"_

"Call me sir again. I dare you."

"_U-uh… sorry, s-s-Officer Kuznetsov! I'm gonna go, uh- bye!"_

He replaces the radio with a sigh. I watch, utterly turned on. (Hey, an intimidating Bryan is a sexy Bryan. Somebody's getting a massage tonight.) Rei, unfortunately, decides to ruin the moment. Damn you, Rei.

"Hey, um… has anyone seen Drigger?"

Silence.

"My cat?" he clarifies.

And to think I'd almost forgotten Rei's gift of producing awkward silences. I think he's just outdone himself. I open my mouth to congratulate him, but a pained cry ("_**Fuuuuck! Stupid cat!**_") from the bedroom interrupts me before I can get a word out.

Bryan fixes Kai with a dry look.

"I think I'll let _you _handle Kon's living arrangements."

oOo

Goki twisted the broom handle idly, watching them leave. A few squad cars remained in the parking lot, but for the most part they were clearing out. The relief was almost painful. He'd answered their questions- even offered to "keep his eyes peeled," God help him.

He'd avoided suspicion.

He'd switched the surveillance tape.

He'd help up his end of the deal. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Jimme didn't do the same.

* * *

**By the slimy tentacles of Cthulu, if you're out there, darlings, review! I'm sure it's worth at least a few dozen karma points. And yes, I measure karma with points. What else could you measure it with? Coffee spoons? SHQ **


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